I've always wondered what high school was like. Ever since I watched teen rom-coms and played with dolls it sounded like some fantasy. Admiring teen girls in books who would dress up, have a best friend, talk about dream-schools, and join clubs.

Even as I got older, I wondered.

The best four years of your life, I was told. But I didn't want to believe any of it. Because I'd never live out that dream. I was a homeschooled kid. Bound to the four walls of my bedroom and my only escape being the windows to the outside world.

An outside world that I could only imagine. My doom, to put simply.

In these moments, I would stare at my ceiling and slip into daydream. Me writing in notebooks, making friends, wearing nice clothes and shoes, putting on mascara and eyeliner.

But once I blinked, the fabric of my imagination disintegrated, and the reality set in. Watching those clothes and shoes be bought but never worn, notebooks in piles, makeup neatly away. I lived my life on pause.

The only life I had existed vicariously through book after book, movie after movie, and in every daydream.

Over time, those daydreams simmered away and I came to accept my life the way it was.

I began to enjoy that I had more time to myself. I could roll out of bed in my pajamas and start school whenever I wanted, no alarms, and I had my mom as a teacher - a patient and amazing one. She wanted her children away from the toxicity in public schools and to focus merely on learning.

Now, junior year is approaching and the thought of turning 16 clouds my brain. To be honest, it does sting a little because I'd miss out on that too.

Sweet sixteen, everyone rambles about. The special year.

It's an early September day as I lay on my bed. A chill slipping through my window. The same chill that makes your body shiver in remembrance of fall approaching, and another year beginning. My hands sit folded on my chest as my gaze traces the lines and crinkles in the ceiling. I never fail to notice how they grow more pronounced by the year.

My mother enters my room, quietly like she always does. With a simple motion of her finger, I sit up and follow.

I exit my room and pad down the stairs behind my mom to find my younger sister, Layla, at the dinner table.

I sit down beside my sister. My mom sits down before us and draws in a deep breath.

My mom speaks, calmly like always, "So, to start off, you both know your aunt. Our dress business is thriving at the moment."

I don't know my aunt that well, other than a few visits we had. She was an amicable woman, round face, bright smiles and red cheeks. I vaguely remember how her house smelled of sweet cookies and how she sent birthday cards with a blue Jolly Rancher taped to the inside.

I was eight the last time I saw her, Layla five.

We called her Aintin, Irish for 'Auntie'. She requested this, stressing the importance of never forgetting our Irish heritage, as it was our grandparents who escaped the struggles in Northern Ireland.

I never thought it important at the time. Now I feel differently. And I notice her stories in myself; from the small freckles on my nose, work ethic and the orange tint in my curls.

I blink away my daydream, listening to my mom. She's still quiet and in thought. She has a power of building suspense, even with the most mundane things.

"It's been very hard on me to balance it, as well as teach you," She licks her dry lips, her curly hair messy and falling from her bun. "She needs me."

"What does that mean for us?" Layla says softly.

"It means I can't homeschool you anymore. I can't do that and be at the shop." My mom says with a bit more sureness this time.

"So, we'll be going to school?" Layla says, hiding the squeak in her voice.

My gaze flickers between them, my chest tight.

"Yes, I have already arranged your schooling." Her warm brown eyes look at us with forced positivity. "The teachers are very kind and supportive."

The beat of my heart sounded like euphoric music that could be heard for miles. I will be normal, living out my childhood dream.

But fear sets in as well. It's all fun and games to imagine myself as a high school student, but it's completely different to be thrown into it.

Because now, I have to live it. When I have no idea how to handle or prepare for it.

"What's it like?" Layla asks softly.

"Fun. You'll make friends and learn things that I can't teach you." My mom smiles. I smiled a bit as well. I know it was her dream to be a nurse, but the ties to her family dress business kept her here in Maine.

She risked her future for her family. A true leader and a helper.

Once she gave nursing up, all she had left was sharing her immense knowledge with her children.

Layla and I nod at her words.

She smiles and waves us away. "You guys can go on now."

Layla and I get up, chasing each other upstairs in a fit of giggles.

×××

Layla's blue eyes practically glow from the sunlight pouring into my bedroom. She rummages through my closet and hers, frantic.

"Oaklee, we have very few hours to prepare, and I don't even have an outfit!" She exclaims.

Layla. The artsy one. Fiercely driven about anything with fashion.

"You need books and stationary, dumbass. An outfit should be the last thing on the list." I scoff.

"At least I have taste,"

"I do have taste, I just do it in order of importance." I sit on my bed watching her scramble from room to room.

It's quite entertaining.

"Aren't you excited though?" Layla squeals. "I get to be in middle school!"

"Middle school seems pretty shitty from what I've heard." I shrug, only to have a pair of jean shorts collide with my face.

"Don't say that! I'll get more anxious." She puts her hands on her hips.

"Welcome to adolescence."

Layla pouts, before her eyes lit up again.

"But you're in high school... you know. You get to be the new girl in all those movies. Like Cady from Mean Girls." Layla smirks, pulling out a shirt from a pile.

I roll my eyes. "Watch me walk into Maples High in a plaid shirt, ponytail, holding my books to my chest and pretend I'm some Y/N. I would get jumped Layla."

Layla cackles and I laugh with her. We follow that statement with demonstrations of what teenagers act like in the movies.

My stomach churns a bit, watching Layla pretend to be lost and confused. I don't want this to be like the movies. Tons of drama, naivety, mean girls and unempathetic teachers.

I want to learn, make friends and have fun. Standing out is not something I find worth it. I need to have a smooth two years and get out.

"I suppose you're right. I do get to be a teenager for once." I say somberly, putting a series of pencils, pens and highlighters into the pencil case I used for homeschooling.

"Yeah, you never really had the chance." Layla smiles softly, gaze flickering between me and the floor.

"This year is gonna be a mess though. I can tell." I sigh out.

"Don't be negative. Who knows? You might meet a hot guy..." Layla nudges me, folding some clothes she dumped there.

"I'm not looking for a guy at the moment." I glare at her.

"They always say that!" Layla rolls her eyes, not successfully hiding her smile.

"I'm actually meaning it," I reply seriously. "I need the grades."

"Oh right. Harvard." Layla sighs sarcastically.

"It's my dream! Can you imagine? Harvard is amazing," I shift on the bed. "I also heard Maples High has a good medical club."

Layla sticks her tongue out in disgust. "Aren't clubs supposed to be fun?"

"It teaches you about the medical field and how to prepare for med school entrance exams." I explain excitedly.

"Ew- but I mean you do you," Layla raises an eyebrow. "I want to join the aesthetics class, maybe even musical theatre."

"Ew." I mock her voice.

This time it isn't jean shorts. It's a pillow.

×××

I lay in bed, staring at my ceiling. The night sky and street lights cast a hue of greenish on the cracks. The light making it appear as if it's glowing.

I imagine myself the next day, in the outfit Layla forcefully picked out.

She even matched it with black boots I got a few years ago. Layla hated the boots, but somehow made it work.

I actually quite like it.

My thoughts drift to the allure of learning new material, asking questions, taking notes and decorating them with highlighters and pens. I'd walk to a new class, with decorated walls and clean whiteboards.

I have a whole new life ahead of me. A fresh start.

[A/N]

New story! Since Garnet's almost done, i thought i'd get started on this. It's unlike anything else i've done - very rom-comy, fun and simple. It's been in the back of my mind for a long time and i'm happy to share it with you!

Let me know if I should to continue with more chapters ♡